


The House of Broken Things

by Stella_by_Starlight (MissMarpleMadness)



Series: The House of Broken Things and Other Poems [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, Metaphors, Original Poetry - Freeform, Poetry, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarpleMadness/pseuds/Stella_by_Starlight





	The House of Broken Things

Here in this house of broken things

There’s a box of glass engagement rings

There’s an empty armoire and a pile of clothes

There’s a faded lamp and a dusty rose

There’s a portrait in oil with the mouth undone

There’s a candle melting in the sun

There’s a little grey mouse who starves for cheese

There’s a pianist playing on broken keys

There are unread books on every shelf

There’s a lonely ghost who haunts herself

There are yellow shoes that draw the eyes

And a million, bitter, little lies                                               

Come rest on the bed with the rusty springs

Here in this house of broken things

 

Here in this house of broken things

There’s a wind that whistles but never sings

There’s a pristine mat with a ‘ _Welcome_ ’ sign

There’s a decanter full of sour wine

There are dirty windows facing west

There’s a suit of armor in a heavy chest

There's a beloved perfume never worn anymore

There's a single glass key to unlock a door

There are musical swans that share a song

There’s a tarnished Chinese dinner gong

There’s a clock that never knows the day

And the imaginary friend who ran away

Keep watching the shadows that morning brings

Here in this house of broken things

 

Here in this house of broken things

There’s a glass canary with paper wings

There are children’s bears once loved and worn

There’s a diary all ripped and torn

There’s a detailed clown who has no wit

There are mending clothes that do not fit

There are seventeen spiders mourning a fly

There’s a headless doll who’s missing an eye

There’s an old, dry bottle of sweet vermouth

There are mirrors that always change the truth

There’s a crooked man believed with zeal

And dreams that never once were real

Go wait by the phone that never rings

Here in this house of broken things


End file.
